Burning at these Mysteries
by troubled.writings.x
Summary: Post-movie. The aftermath of the situation isn't something she'll allude easily to. And really, diving into his proposal, what exactly made her think this would be a good idea?
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Burning at these Mysteries**  
Chapter: **One  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Inception or these characters.  
**Rating: **T  
**Ship(s): **Ariadne/Arthur  
**Summary: **Post-movie. The aftermath of the situation isn't something she'll allude easily to. And really, diving into his proposal, what exactly made her think this would be a good idea?

–

The thing about Dom and Arthur is that they're really good friends. In fact, they're more than that. The real thing is that they're brothers, by choice.

It's definitely the kind of thing that could, understandably, be misinterpreted.

But Ariadne knows. She has always known. She has stood on the outside of them and quite literally on the inside as well.

And as she sits by the river bank and watches the white van sink further into the dark water, sucking her teeth in and shivering against the cold wind, she tells the man next to her that Cobb will be _alright_.

Ariadne hopes that even with the water and multiple dream stages between them that it'll always be Dom and Arthur, the two men who've gone through hell and back together.

But when Cobb doesn't wake up on the plane, Ariadne witnesses the fleeting look of betrayal on Arthur's face.

And as she stands on one side of the baggage carousel, with Arthur on the other, not turning away until his eyes get too close, does she finally flee. Again.

Because the thing about Arthur and Ariadne, she could have broken him.

–

Ariadne lights the cigarette with a shaking hand.

She inhales the sweet tobacco, only hating herself a little for it. A disgusting new habit and she knows she shouldn't, but she also knows that cigarettes aren't as bad as the other ways she has hurt herself.

She had always been addicted more to adventure and spontaneity than the cigarettes, and before Ariadne can remind herself that it's not the way she wants it anymore, she hears the screeching brakes of a car halting a few feet away.

Arthur stumbles out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind him as he marches towards her.

"How'd you find me?"

It's a stupid question really. If this man once had the power to invade another's subconscious, once even her own, then what's stopping him from seeking her?

Arthur frowns, and even with the impending darkness of the New York City horizon, she can see something flash across his face in contempt.

"You haven't changed one bit, have you?" Ariadne grunts, exhaling hard in his direction so the smoke bounces off his impeccable face. "You're still bitter and angry and _resentful _over things you and I didn't have any control over."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he growls back, "You could have saved him, Ariadne."

Her name sounds like it tastes of dust on his tongue.

Suddenly Arthur reaches out and clutches the end of the cigarette still in her mouth. He tugs at it, holding her gaze as it falls wordlessly to the ground.

"Do you really think you can make everyone forget?"

"What are you talking about? Eames is somewhere halfway across the world, and Yusuf is probably not far," she shouts, startled by this accusation, "they're trying to forget, Arthur, and so am I!"

Arthur's face is impassive, but his eyes burn with an emotion that makes her heart beat wildly inside her chest.

"You want to start over again on a blank slate? There's no such thing," says Arthur before storming back to his car.

And as Ariadne stands at the corner of the curb, fingers trembling as they search for another cigarette, she's so desperate for a smoke that she feels like she can't breathe. By the time she's inhaling the familiar tobacco, Ariadne pretends that she feels okay and that the cigarette is helping even though it's not and never will.

The world is spinning, and she doesn't remember when it had begun again to feel like it was too much effort to be in reality while Cobb is buried in the depths of himself… wherever he is.

And she stands here, waiting for a taxi, alone, certainly not in the need of the brown-haired man she had once believed in and gave up on a long time ago.

–

Ariadne has always thought that after the Fischer job she would be able to move with her life. But moving on isn't as easy as she had thought it would be.

She returns home to a Brooklyn apartment that is far from luxurious, with unreliable plumbing and splintered ceilings that maintenance hardly bothers to repair. Working for the city's construction developmental agency, while studying half the time, is a tedious job, and Ariadne almost wishes she had seen her demise beforehand, but that really does no one good. She tries fixing the damaged ceilings herself, but it never seems to hold up, and the cracks always return.

Again, her eyes catch sight of the golden chess piece on her nightstand. Ariadne doesn't know why she still clings to it – the instrument of her own torture – when it would make more sense to throw it as far away as she can from her balcony.

Perhaps the thought that if she can learn to look at it and not experience that vertigo feeling of waking up, similar to the one she had felt on the plane after the Fischer job, then she can somehow defeat the memory of it and erase it.

She sighs wearily and climbs onto the fire escape outside, reaching deep into her jeans for a cigarette and lighter.

–

"Did you come here to try to guilt trip me again?" Adriane quips at him as she exits the building where her latest lecture had been held.

She wishes Arthur would try to avoid her like he knows he should. That evening when he had seen her smoking makes Adriane realize that she wants him to feel something beside the hot smoke she purposely spews at him whenever he's too close to her.

"Just come and see him, Adriane, just once," he insists, blocking her path with his firm arm.

"What? You brought him _here_? In _New York_?" Adriane hisses, throwing her hands in the air to illustrate her astonishment. "Where are you keeping him, in another dingy warehouse?"

When Arthur doesn't reply, she can almost feel the color draining from her face. The reality of her situation, her _problems_, is hidden somewhere in the city's industrial district and all she wants to do is leave New York or immerse herself into something else entirely.

That's why she's the one who walks away from Arthur, because she's good at that, at leaving him. She'll go back to her rundown apartment and shower before work, and congratulate herself for picking the easy route out and the leaving the hard one behind.

–

She spots Arthur lingering on the outskirts of the construction zone with her peripheral vision. Before he can seriously injure himself for not wearing a hard hat, Ariadne calls for a break over the shouts of the workers and roaring machines that sound as familiar to her as her own heartbeat.

"Hi," greets Arthur, attempting a smile that fits his face like a battle scar. It's not a real smile, because she's already seen one of those of his before.

It's a ghost of one, crooked and wrong, and it doesn't fit his face like the way Ariadne doesn't fit with him and his world. She wants him to stop trying so she nods in recognition and lights a cigarette as she prepares her speech of dissuasion.

"Do you ever stop smoking?"

If his question is supposed to be humorous she certainly can't tell by his estranged tone. Nonetheless, Ariadne shrugs, finding it difficult to explain to him that she needs to smoke because she's a full-blown addict now.

"When did you start?" Arthur asks, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers.

She opens her mouth to answer, but automatically shuts it, because the way he's gazing at her already says that he knows. That he's just waiting for her to say something to him that is snarky or rude, because God knows that's all Ariadne remembers articulating to him for the past few days.

"I think you should stop smoking," he says, squinting into the sunlight overhead.

Ariadne takes a long drag from her cigarette, feeling the jittery effect of nicotine in her body as her skin tingles.

The way Arthur looks right now, marking his words with such demand yet alienated comprehension, makes her see nothing of the man who taught her about paradoxes, even less of the one who had pressed his lips to her as they sat in that same dream.

There is a vague hint of that Arthur but ironically it doesn't bother her as much as she thought it would.

That had been the Arthur she met, after all. The Arthur who had sedated and monitored her while she had her first experience of subconscious manipulation with Cobb. The Arthur who now mourns for his friend, his _brother_, while she mourns the life she could have had.

"Arthur," she inhales, trying to find a way to put the mirth in her tone, "I think you should _start_ smoking."

He laughs but his eyes look sad. She avoids them by staring down at her feet.

"Ariadne," he finally says, his voice breaking on her name, and she can't help but let her eyes flicker to him without a second thought.

Arthur's hand reaches over towards her and then freezes and clenches, dropping to his side. She loses her breath, caught in the way he almost makes her believe there's something more to him besides the deeply rooted abhorrence she has come to find.

"What do you want, Arthur?"

"Who says I want anything from you?" he smirks.

"You wanted me to see him." Ariadne points out, steadying her voice as her mind swirls at the thought of all the possible directions this conversation can take route, only to succumb to one known destination.

"Yeah, and I took you walking away as a refusal –"

"Fine, I'll do it," she says suddenly, glancing at her watch and tossing her cigarette to the ground before jamming it under her heel.

Arthur gives her a measured look and it changes everything.

Because today is different. Ariadne realizes now that she can't abstain from Arthur or the trauma she has foolishly caused him.

Today is a heavier aching, it's a foreshadowing she doesn't let herself interpret at the moment, because that means she has to try to engross herself into her guilt, almost like the one Cobb had been trying to keep furtive.

And she can't do that without Cobb.

She can't do it without Arthur, either.

"Pick me up at 7."

–

She knows she's pushing the boundaries when she takes out a cigarette and attempts to light it inside Arthur's car.

"Don't," he says, his voice marring a warning tone as he gestures to the interior setting, "this is Italian leather."

Slowly she puts the cigarette away. It's the first time she thinks of how his living and recreational conditions are so unnervingly different from her own.

"Are you working in the city?" Ariadne asks when the silence goes on for too long.

They've been driving for a while, and Ariadne can just about make out the sun setting in the skyline behind the large factories and buildings.

Lifting one shoulder in an attempt at a shrug Arthur answers, "kind of. It's an on-again, off-again, kind of thing at a firm downtown for years now."

Ariadne draws the tips of her fingers over the door handle, immediately feeling a little self conscious due to the predicament she remembers she's currently in. The money she had earned from the Fischer job was only enough to pay for her current tuition and student loans from Paris.

Other from that she's only making ends meet.

"I guess even you had a life outside of Cobb," mumbles Ariadne, sinking into the soft car seat and leaning towards the window beside her.

"I was going to quit, anyway."

"No, you weren't," she replies, her lips curling as she feel more like her old self than she has in weeks.

Cobb and Arthur, they're brothers. They would've always picked each other in the end.

–


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Burning at these Mysteries**  
Chapter: **Two  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Inception or these characters.  
**Rating: **T  
**Ship(s): **Ariadne/Arthur  
**Summary: **Post-movie. The aftermath of the situation isn't something she'll allude easily to. And really, diving into his proposal, what exactly made her think this would be a good idea?

–

Heaving a loud sigh, Ariadne closes the car door and sinks back against it.

From the outside, looking in, the warehouse almost seems to be radiating a repressive glow. And that void inside of her, the one that has been apparent ever since completing the Fischer job, only irritates her chest further as she slowly advances towards the heavy metal doors.

Arthur is standing so close to her now that he should be able to sense her anxiousness.

At once, Ariadne can almost feel the heat emitting from his body from underneath his suit. She can almost feel his breath as it stirs the few strands of hair that frame her face. His eyes are like hardened steel, expressing no emotion as they fixate her. Arthur smells like expensive cologne, soap, and all around _male_.

"Arthur?" she questions, wrapping her arms securely around herself to keep steady.

The street lights flicker obscurely as they approach the building. Their eerie glow illuminates his face in a way that makes Ariadne suddenly ponder his motives even when she doesn't understand her own.

Arthur silently inserts a key into the door, waiting for her to continue.

"Isn't this against the rules?"

"I think we've broken a lot of _rules_ over the past few months," says Arthur, trying to give her what she recognizes as his lazy smirk, "which exact rule are you referring to?"

"I just… didn't know we could do this sort of thing. I didn't know we could keep someone who's in such a deep state of sub-consciousness alive for so long," mutters Ariadne.

Arthur's smirk fades instantly.

"You thought I would just leave him at the airport? Jesus Christ, Ariadne," he replies, "I guess I always knew that Eames and Yusuf wouldn't want to do or say anything about it, but I thought you'd be different."

"Because you blame me and think this is my chance for atonement."

He pauses and turns to push the door open by exerting force with his shoulder.

"No, I mean that you'd _want_ to do something about it since you're the only one that knows what happened. You aren't getting any special treatment, Ariadne. These days I pretty much hate everyone the same."

Ariadne laughs slightly at his last words as the cool autumn air envelops them. A sense of relief washes over her momentarily.

"I guess we all have our own way of dealing with our demons," she says, her hand absentmindedly reaches into her pocket for a smoke.

–

Ariadne aimlessly pushes the cigarette into her lips without even trying to hide it, as Arthur walks forward into the warehouse.

She's still standing outside, nodding subtly to no one in particular, as she wordlessly encourages herself to follow. _Damn it, _that's why she is here_._ That's her _motive_ after all.

She trembles like a leaf as she squeezes into the opening between the two metal doors.

Immediately the immense ceiling lights turn on with a thundering click, leaving Ariadne with a fleeting moment of blindness as she shields her eyes from the bright illumination.

When Ariadne lowers her hands and adjusts her eyes to her surroundings, she stiffens instantaneously.

Across the warehouse, nearly a dozen yards away, is Cobb lying motionless on one of those lawn chairs she recognizes from Paris.

_You share your dreams with me._

A surge of neglect and shame shoots through her, filling her with a reprehensible sensation that drains the small feeling of security she had felt before she had stepped inside.

Ariadne lets out a choked sob, causing the unlit cigarette to fall directly to the ground.

The silence seems to stretch on for hours until Arthur finally breaks it.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asks, cautiously nearing her with his smoldering face full of concern.

Ariadne shoves her hands into her jacket, purposely reaching past the box of cigarettes until her fingers wrap protectively around her golden chess piece.

"Yes."

–

Arthur brings her a glass of white wine, which is probably okay, because Ariadne likes the way it tastes sweet and bitter all at once.

"If you're trying to get me addicted to something other than cigarettes, this was a good start," she muses dryly, clutching the glass by its narrow stem so tightly that it reminds her of Mal's attempt to strike her in the basement of Cobb's dream.

Ariadne blinks rapidly and shakes the memory away.

Arthur smiles at her humorlessly. The corner of his mouth twitches as he tries to ease into the conversation. "I'm not, but I'm glad you like to think the worst of me."

"Why wouldn't I?" she asks, looking inquisitively at Arthur like she's looking at him for the first time.

He stares at her for a long moment and Ariadne is no longer really considering her question because she's too caught in Arthur's starving brown eyes.

And then her thoughts shift to the other, more prominent reason she's here.

Cobb.

Ariadne leans back in her seat and evades from letting her gaze fall on Cobb, who is currently situated in front of her.

His durable jaw is now covered with rough stubble and his dark suit is crinkled and dull. It almost seems too large on his sullen frame.

But the most interesting thing about Cobb's condition is his familiar visage. The sharp angles and wide cheeks are all still there, like he's getting everything he needs to fill up that face of his.

Perhaps if she concentrates hard enough, she might be able to see his eyes moving rhythmically underneath his eyelids. It's almost as though he's at a state of serenity, like he's dreaming.

Or it could be Ariadne's imagination getting the best of her, only letting her see what she wants to see: a satisfied Cobb exactly where he wants to be.

Her stomach twists and churns as she remembers the violent wind hammering her face as buildings in Cobb's limbo had toppled over. She remembers the ground shattering beneath her feet as she had pushed Fischer off the balcony, _improvising_.

"What happened down there? What happened while you and Cobb went to get Fischer?" he asks after a few minutes of sipping his wine.

Ariadne lowers her glass from her lips.

"You were always suspicious of Mal, weren't you? The way she was always projected into your assignments through Cobb? You knew he couldn't let her go, right?" she asks, biting back the bile that is rising up in her throat.

"Yes, but –" Arthur makes a movie to answer, but she doesn't let him finish.

"He did. Cobb let go of her down there, at least, that's what it appeared to look like," says Ariadne, hunching forward as she runs her fingers through her long hair, "I told him we had to go or otherwise he'd miss the kick and get stuck. But he said he had to get Saito… he said he'd improvise."

Whatever it is that has been making her feel so sick inside breaks free and causes Aridane to take a few shaky breathes as her eyelids fall close against he tears now forming in her eyes.

She's sitting with her arms wrapped around her stomach, bottom lip between her teeth and uncertainty written in every feature of her face. From the corner of her vision Ariadne can make out Arthur through her tears, which only causes heat to rise up her neck in embarrassment.

Because Christ, Arthur already has his own problems to deal with, and now he has her crying inside the warehouse where he's keeping his sleep-induced _brother _locked up from the rest of the world.

Except it's not like that.

Cautiously, stemming from everything inside of Ariadne screaming for him not to get any closer, she allows for Arthur to slide over beside her in the lawn chair, carefully place his hand on her arm and then her back, and wait as her sobs lessen to hiccups and then disappear all together.

Ariadne pulls back and wipes her face as she slowly stands and rubs her palms against her jeans conclusively.

"What happened with Yusuf and Eames at the airport?" she asks, the lightheadedness weakens as she begins to pace in front of Arthur, restoring any sense of dignity she can find amidst herself.

"Well," begins Arthur, gazing down at his hands right after he has touched her, "after getting Cobb through security we didn't talk. I guess it was the first sign of us coming apart. Once the job was done, there was nothing left for us to build on together as a team."

"So now you're mad that they've abandoned you?"

"No," he says as his eyes swim underneath the bright warehouse lights, "I'm not mad at them for leaving."

"Then what?"

"I'm mad at them for moving on without me."

There is a long, swollen gap of silence as Ariadne begins to realize that the tension between her and Arthur has never been personal. She is the only outlet he has at his reach; the only connection left willing to be near Cobb.

It shouldn't surprise Ariadne that Arthur just wants to understand.

"Arthur, can you take me home?" she requests softly.

"Yeah," he replies, brushing the dust off his dress pants as he gets up from his seat.

–

When Arthur suggests that he walk her up to her apartment, Ariadne doesn't have the words in her to protest or reject his offer.

It's something she has learned to comprehend recently. It's not that she can't say no to him, in fact, the more she had chewed over the thought in her head during the car ride over when she had pictured this precise scenario, Ariadne realizes that she doesn't really _want_ to say no to Arthur.

Not after that experience in the warehouse when she had agreed to see Cobb.

Arthur doesn't make remarks about her pitiable Brooklyn building or the circumstances she's been reduced to. However, Ariadne knows she should put her guard up around him more, especially when she is unsure of what constitutes her acceptance of his actions.

But tonight she doesn't.

He's the only one she has ever been this vulnerable around and she needs it that way. No one else could possibly grasp her neurosis and her culpable feelings, because no one else has ever been a part of Arthur's world.

No one else knows what it's like to share a dream with someone, only to wake up and realize that reality isn't adequate.

And the worst part is that Ariadne can't tell a soul.

So in essence, Arthur is her one soul now, despite the fact that she's not entirely sure he has one beneath all the layers of his suit.

If anything, the way Arthur has behaved around her tonight, all tentative and quiet yet comforting in his own estranged way, should deter Ariadne from this conclusion, but it feels like nothing has changed, even though everything in away entirely has.

"I should…" she says, but finds her voice trailing off into a necessary ambiguity. Ariadne gestures towards her paint-chipped apartment door once the elevator halts at her floor.

She checks the time and sees that it's late. Sighing, Ariadne knows that she needs to climb into bed and get some sleep, even if it seems impossible considering the evening they have had.

Arthur merely nods, giving her that masking boyish grin of his as he makes his way back down the hall.

She has just pushed the door open when she turns around, somehow knowing that Arthur is looking at her. She twists her head and he's standing in front of the elevator with one hand in his pocket and a gentle look on his face, almost as if he wants to take in everything about her at this one moment.

Arthur's recognizable facial features don't change the entire time she stares at him, and when Ariadne locks the apartment door behind her, she can't help but quietly laugh to herself because he could have come in if he had asked.

–

_I'm about to call out to them, they run away and I'll never get to see their faces again. I got to get back home._

Ariadne wakes up with a cry and lurches upright in her bed, sweat plastering her hair to her face. She scrambles out of the sheets and blindly fumbles for a cigarette on her nightstand.

Her legs stumble underneath her as she climbs onto her fire escape and shivers in the chilly early morning air. The hot smoke seals up her lungs and she manages a whimpering sigh of relief as she stuffs her lighter inside her sweats and shakes away the remaining traces of her nightmare from her head.

By the time Ariadne crawls back into bed, she's so mentally and physically exhausted that she's nearly asleep before her head collapses against her pillows.

The last thing she recalls is the cracks in her ceiling melting into nothingness as they blur together due to the effects of the nicotine and anxiety in her system.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Burning at these Mysteries**  
Chapter: **Three  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Inception or these characters.  
**Rating: **M  
**Ship(s): **Ariadne/Arthur  
**Summary: **Post-movie. The aftermath of the situation isn't something she'll allude easily to. And really, diving into his proposal, what exactly made her think this would be a good idea?

—

It's easier to forget at the bottom of a glass of wine, similar to her experiences after a long smoke, than to remember the cards that fate has dealt Ariadne.

Everything she has worked for, all direction in her life had shifted with the twisting of her pen as she had scratched out a maze for Cobb back in Paris.

These days, she just can't stay away from the warehouse, because despite seeing Cobb after so much hesitation and apprehension, Ariadne's insides still carve up every time she approaches the looming building.

This is the second time in one week that she has called in sick at work so she can see him.

"I knew you'd be here," says Arthur, stepping back from the large metal doors to let her in.

"Can you like, read minds or something?" she asks. The words sound bitter and sarcastic, but Ariadne doesn't give them too much thought because a part of her wants to know what secret powers Arthur may harbor.

He has always been such an enigma to her after all.

"Just yours," he muses as he delicately presses a glass of wine into her hands.

"I'm serious," she prods, because maybe it'll lead to some morbid revelation that'll explain her whole mess of a life.

In fact, Ariadne has been thinking that if she learns a bit more about him, she might better understand why he acts so broody and mysterious. And if it, in any shape or form, somehow reflects into her life considering Arthur is the only contact she currently has.

And yeah, she knows how wild the idea sounds, which is why she can't make herself do it.

Arthur scoffs, "No, I can't."

"Well I can read people. Most of the time, at least."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," confirms Ariadne, "for example, you definitely don't hate me as much as you try to".

As soon as she says it, Ariadne thinks she might actually feel better if he agrees. Arthur is nothing but usually calm and collected with what he is and what has happened and the man who had started it all. She thinks it may actually be healthy to be expressively upset about it, just not at her.

However, instead of responding, Arthur just looks at her. He studies her face like he will forget it if she leaves and he doesn't take the time to memorize her.

"What?" she asks softly. She's surprised that his demeanor only frightens her slightly because this is a completely different feeling.

It's not fear of what he thinks of her, it's fear of what she might feel for him.

"Nothing."

There's a sweet sentiment disguised in between Arthur's efforts to be nonchalant about his blatant staring, and it only causes Ariadne to press the matter further.

He should know by now that she isn't someone that let things go so easily.

"No, tell me," she presses, locking her eyes with his as she sets her wine down on the table beside her.

"I don't hate you, Ariadne," he says finally.

He blinks slowly, just once, and in Ariadne's head, she hears his voice saying something else. She doesn't know exactly what it is, but there's suddenly a lump in her throat because Arthur makes her want what she can't have. That sense of discovering closure, which Ariadne's so certain that she has been longing… she can't get that from Arthur.

She turns away before she does something crazy like tell him that she _doesn't hate _him too.

—

In a heartbeat, Ariadne settles herself on the lawn chair situated beside Cobb, her hands sliding to hold her head as her eyes land on his sleeping form.

It's been hard.

There's nothing cleansing about the nightmares and the endless cigarettes that don't seem to burn out, and now that she has seen Cobb, she knows that no amount of smoking or _drinking wine_, will let her forget him now.

_You don't understand. These are memories I have to change._

In retrospect, it had almost been too easy in the end; finding Mal in limbo, pushing Fischer off the porch balcony, believing Cobb when he said he'd get out; and then telling Arthur he'd be alright. If studying architecture has taught Ariadne anything, it isn't simply just physics and geometrics, but that opportunities are everywhere, and she grasps them instantaneously.

It had been why she joined Cobb's team, realizing that controlling and designing the dimensions of dreams is better than drawing them in her notebooks.

But Ariadne still doesn't know why she had been so quick to let Cobb risk his life to retrieve Saito, knowing both the slim chances and the dire consequences.

The footsteps are soft, but steady and she knows that it's Arthur. Glancing back at him standing behind her, she catches his eye and holds it, running over and over in her head that she had done this for a reason.

She only hopes that she will find out just what that reason is.

—

Arthur drives her home again, and this time, Ariadne doesn't have to try to know that when he is beside her, in the elevator, he's hoping she'll change her mind and invite him inside her apartment.

And that is Arthur for you; extremely professional, until he plots his way into your personal space, if only for a moment.

But because she is feeling a bit daring, and more than a bit tipsy from the expensive wine, Ariadne purposely fiddles through her bag in search of her keys and makes an excuse to let him in.

There's a sudden crash of glass and distant yelling from elsewhere on her apartment floor. Her stomach tenses up and Ariadne immediately begins to have doubts about having Arthur in her building any longer than he needs to be in it.

"You're going to love this place," she mutters, forcing a brass key into the lock.

"I don't judge," says Arthur, "besides, at least you _have_ neighbors."

She stops and turns to look at him and there's something like heartbreak on his face that she thinks might just match her own.

And before she can begin to contemplate her abrupt advances, she's clutching at his tie and pulling his lips down to meet hers.

At first Arthur freezes, but then pulls her body flush against his and runs his tongue into her mouth. Ariadne can taste the raw flavor of wine and another taste that is entirely Arthur's as she struggles with the key.

Arthur is at her side with his mouth fastened to the sensitive skin on her neck, his fingers gripping her waist as they tug at the waistband of her jeans. By the time Ariadne manages to open the door, Arthur has his hand in her pants and nearly every button on his dress shirt has popped off in their desperate attempt to gain access to each other's skin.

He pins her against the closed door once they are inside and takes her right there, with his slacks pooled at his ankles, and her legs wrapped tightly around him. Arthur thrusts into her and she can't stop the gasp from escaping her as he stretches her to her limit. And when Ariadne reaches her peak, she cries from the intensity of her climax, digs her nails into his wet skin and buries her face into his shoulder until she's able to catch her breath.

Afterward, when they finish straightening themselves into their clothes, she tries her hardest to find the right words.

Of course, it's Arthur who ruptures the silence, "So… what you said about loving this place…"

"Arthur, I think you should go," she croaks in response.

For a second Ariadne thinks he hasn't heard her because his expression goes unfazed, but something like understanding, and perhaps even a little exasperation, creeps through his features and she is just able to make it out.

A month ago, she would not have vacillated if such a proposition had occurred, if such a question was brought up between them, but somehow he disarms her.

Arthur is poised and balanced in spite of his tremendous commitment to his culpable condition. His calloused hands, _God those hands_, they have knocked down nearly every barrier she has built since landing at LAX.

And now, the only barriers she has left are those against him.

—

The next morning, she takes a cab to the warehouse, not certain if she expects Arthur to be there, and only sure that Cobb is still occupying one of the lawn chairs.

She bites her lip and pushes the metal door inward, half expecting it to be locked, but to her sheer amazement it is open. The door screeches against the silence inside the warehouse, and it automatically catches Arthur's attention, as he stumbles out of the corner room and stops in mid-step to look at her.

She can hear his breathing, and she is sure he can hear hers.

"Hey," he says airily, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Ariadne smiles wearily, knowing she can't handle words around the awkward scream stuck in the back of her throat. Therefore, her best option is to go to Cobb.

Arthur watches her silently as she drops her bag next to the lawn chair, before taking a seat. In the back of her mind, Ariadne clings to the naïve hope that Arthur will not talk about the actions of last night.

There's already too much on her plate, most of which is lying unconscious in front of her.

"Can you ever wake up from it?" she asks suddenly.

"He did it once before with Mal, but that was different. He wanted to leave," replies Arthur, his voice heavy with reason, "Yusuf said he might after the sedative wears off."

"10 years…" her voice trails off, and everything she used to be emerges when Ariadne turns to look at him over her shoulder. "How long has it been for him, Arthur?"

Her palms quickly begin to sweat because she's too goddamn afraid to hear the answer she's already aware of.

Arthur rubs his hands over his jaw, closing his eyes as if he's calculating the math in his head. When he opens them, there's an odd expression on his face; a combination between nervous, anticipation and slight fear.

Ariadne recognizes that look and knows precisely what it means. _Too long._

"If he wanted to leave, couldn't he?"

"I don't know. Saito got out, but—"Arthur's voice breaks off, and she can see clearly now, like a veil has been lifted. Arthur is just as scared as she is, and maybe he always has been, masking it with his guilt, acting like he is so sure there can't be any other way for Cobb.

Ariadne stands, taking a long deliberate look at Cobb, fine lines and wrinkles and all, and begins to pace. She carefully tries to conjures up the tiny, fragmented thoughts that reflect all sense of faith left in her, but the words won't come out and with the minutes slipping away in silence like sand draining from an hourglass, Ariadne clenches her teeth together, tension straining the edges that defines the moment in a gesture of alteration that may prove fruitless, but she can't bring herself to give up her last shred of hope.

She takes a deep breath and forces the words out smoothly. "Can he die of old age down there? You know, grow up a happy old man, just like he deserves? See his kids grow up?"

The pregnant pause that ensues is deafening, and it's almost as if Ariadne has driven this conversation too far off the edge to be brought back.

"Maybe," Arthur starts, closing his eyes again like he's pulling up the mental depiction for himself. "I'm just getting this picture in my head… of his projection of Phillipa's first boyfriend, and there's this… hilariously unimpressed expression on Dom's face."

Ariadne suddenly bursts out in sudden laughter, noticing the way it brings light to Arthur's eyes.

There had always been that constant with Cobb. It had been one of the first things she'd noticed when she had first met him. Cobb was an honorable man, even with all the shards of his broken life scattered around him in ruins because of Mal.

And ultimately, when Ariadne tries to sum it all up in her head, the only deliberation that formulates is that there's absolutely no reason why Cobb can't be alright.

Arthur inches closer just as her laughter dies down. His palm comes to rest in the bend of her elbow, thumb brushing the pulse point there. She knows her heart is pounding, erratic, uneven, and he must feel it too.

"What's the first thing you remember?" she whispers as her fingers sprawl evenly against his crisp buttoned shirt.

"I remember the van, the freezing water, and Dom not waking—"

Ariadne closes the space between them and kisses him, not letting Arthur continue because part of her believes it's no longer important.

Arthur fists his hands in her hair, and she feels him return her kiss, and then her mind shuts down completely, giving in. He pulls her tight against his body, his hands searching out the slope of her curves, and a pulse shoots through her as if he's trying to climb underneath her skin.

There's a distant roar of thunder as his hand slips underneath the cotton of her shirt and pushes it up, her hands leaving their place in his hair to let him take it off over her head. She moves up against Arthur again, skimming his shoulders, while he unbuttons her jeans and pushes at them. A brief flash of lightning later Ariadne kicks her legs free and feels the brick wall behind Arthur as his tie falls away.

He begins walking her backwards and it's easier when her lips move down his neck and he can see over her shoulder. They tumble onto a nearby lawn chair, hands roving everywhere within reach, building up a slow burning heat between them, and for the first time, Ariadne feels nothing.

Nothing at all.

—

The first thing Ariadne is aware of when they are finished is the sound of rain pattering against the warehouse windows. There's also a gentle muted drumming of Arthur's heartbeat that is pressed up against her back.

They both make a slow start to recover their clothing, even less words said this time than the night before, and the space reserved for her guilt gradually begins to fall away and fill with another, less known emotion that Ariadne can't quite place her finger on.

She could happily give Arthur these things he wordlessly asks for with his hands, his mouth, and his _eyes_, but she does not think she can cope to give him back afterward.

And as she turns around to put her shirt back on, the faintest of color creeping up her neck, her thoughts begin to turn as well.

"Do you think he's happy?" Ariadne questions, her fingers absentmindedly running through her dark hair.

"I hope so," Arthur replies in a voice so soft, it makes her squint, "He's my best friend."

"Yeah, I know. "

And as she stands there with Arthur, Ariadne realizes that loneliness tastes a lot like wine – bitter and sweet at the same time as it slips down your throat. And sometimes it tastes like cigarettes, the way the nicotine courses through your veins and burns at the base of your lungs.

Loneliness looks like the barren brick walls of a warehouse, and sometimes, it's a rundown apartment with cracked ceilings.

"Ariadne?"

"Yes?"

"_This_ doesn't mean anything, right?"

"Right." She cringes at how small her voice sounds to her own ears.

It's all quiet and ill-at-ease after that, so tense that Ariadne's movements are jerky as she picks up her bag, and searches desperately for a cigarette as she walks towards the edge of the warehouse. The sound of the metal door shutting makes her flinch as if she has been struck.

—

Of course, her barricaded feelings towards Arthur don't deter Ariadne from finding the provisional relief she achieves when he makes her come. The feeling alone is like the earth and stars colliding together to produce a fleeting breathtaking sight before dispersing into nothingness.

In essence, they are just a tangle of convoluted limbs, and usually twisted bed sheets. Ariadne tries not to notice that they're made of silk if they are in his bed and a cheap polyester blend if they are in hers.

And when she's panting, eyes snapped shut as Arthur's pale skin slides against hers, she sucks in deep breaths, almost as if her lungs are about to give out, because she is back inside that submerged van. Except during these times, she isn't awake.

She's drowning.

And only Arthur's ability to coax her release with his movements and groans seeping into her skin, are enough to reel her back into reality and send her over the edge into bliss.

Nevertheless, regardless of where they are, they hardly hold each other, and never spend anymore time together than needed. Ariadne knows that if she allows those intimacies into their encounters, then what they do would cease to be futile.

Then it will actually mean something.

The only thing Ariadne worries of now are opening the floodgates to what she has been trying to lock away since the Fischer job.

Arthur will undo her, she knows; and it is only a matter of time.

—

As Ariadne washes up for bed one night after Arthur has left, she thinks about inception, and the loss of Cobb, as well as the growth and dependability of her imminent remorse – both hers and Arthur's.

She pauses to study her reflection in her dimly lit bathroom, recalling the life she once had and who she once was. However, that had been a different woman in a different lifetime. A woman with more values and aptitude than she possesses now. Not one so close to toppling into the abyss of being forgotten amongst the hustle of the city.

With a sniff, Ariadne yanks her totem from her nightstand, tests its weight in her right hand and pushes it over and over again on the ceramic counter, watching it fall onto the side she expects it to, but it is no use.

_You want to start over again on a blank slate? There's no such thing._

With a deep breath and emotions cresting inside her to a degree she's never felt before, Ariadne takes her lone cigarette box out from her jeans, marches over to her balcony, raises her arm and throws it so that there's nothing in her line of vision but a tiny white dot that sails against the evening backdrop of the Brooklyn horizon, disappearing through her tears.

—


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Burning at these Mysteries**  
Chapter: **Four  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Inception or these characters.  
**Rating: **T  
**Ship(s): **Ariadne/Arthur  
**Summary: **Post-movie. The aftermath of the situation isn't something she'll allude easily to. And really, diving into his proposal, what exactly made her think this would be a good idea?

—

She is so attuned to Arthur now; from the sound of his voice to the way he walks, that there's no possible reason as to why she can't hear him get up from her bed and start to dress.

Ariadne closes her eyes and tries to concentrate on the clink of his belt instead of the sweat that is beginning to accumulate on her forehead.

God, she is just _so tired_ all of a sudden.

She feels Arthur's eyes on her instantly, feels the heat of his warm chest burning through his collar shirt like molten metal. Ariadne wants to fidget under his scrutiny, wants to shrink away and hide under her bed sheets where it's safe, where she and Arthur both refuse for him to stay.

And then the quiet gets to be too much for him and Arthur inches closer, his expression is a mix of displeasure and worry.

"Ariadne," he exhales, raking a hand through her damp hair, "you're shaking."

She closes her eyes again and this time notices her shivering, realizes that she's both burning hot and freezing cold at the same time, and that there's a massive headache forming inside her head.

Arthur starts to open her drawers, rifling through her neglected scarves and trinkets, like he's frantically searching for something.

"What happened to your cigarettes?" Arthur asks as he searches through the items on her nightstand, his hand narrowly missing her golden totem.

"I threw-ww them out-t," she stutters in response, her tiny frame shuddering like violent tremors.

"Jesus," he says, his voice marred with frustration, "You're supposed to detach yourself from them gradually, Ariadne. You can't quit nicotine cold turkey like that, or else you'll put your body into withdrawal."

Ariadne tries to focus on his voice, but it's proving to be difficult over the aching that's spreading through her body.

"Wait here, I'll go down to the convenience store and buy you a pack."

"No!" Ariadne chokes as her quivering body tangles itself in her cold bed sheets, "D-don't bring-g-g those things-s near me-e ever a-again. Just go."

With a sigh, Arthur murmurs something to himself, pulls his arms through the sleeves of his shirt, and starts to gather the remainder of his clothes.

"Okay, I'm leaving now."

Ariadne nods, her teeth grinding against each other too hard for her to speak.

For a moment there is silence. Then she hears Arthur drop his clothes back on to the floor. He crawls under the covers and presses the length of his body against hers, wrapping his arms around her shaking torso to pull her nearer.

Ariadne can't stop the sigh of relief that escapes her as she nestles herself closer to his languid figure.

She thinks she hears him whisper _just this once_, but she can't be too sure.

—

"Hey, you don't look so good," she comments a week later while getting ready for a morning lecture at NYU. "You look like you haven't slept in days."

Arthur's lips twitch in amusement, his eyes filling with a peculiar sort of light that allude to one thing and one thing only: they have been spending nights together.

Each time he holds her until her body stops shivering and the symptoms of her withdrawal fade away long enough for her to fall back asleep. Sometimes it takes mere minutes, and other times, he holds her for hours.

He yawns deeply, unraveling his rolled up sleeves and frowning at the wrinkles on them as he rubs the dark circles under his eyes. "I've been having nightmares, okay?"

"Oh."

Arthur's face immediately hardens and he walks towards the front door where he begins to slip on his expensive leather loafers. Ariadne follows him, slouching against the thin walls of her apartment.

"Your nightmares – they're about the van, aren't they? You have nightmares about the time you first knew Cobb wasn't going to wake up."

Arthur's eyes glisten and she realizes that there is pain still there, like a hard throbbing in the very depth of his chest, just like her own.

"No, not anymore," he replies, and there's something in his voice she has never head before, "they're about something else entirely."

He opens the door and steps out into the hallway, and suddenly, that pain, morose and never dulling, begins to ease and something else begins to take its place.

Something white and hot and burning.

—

They continue to have sex regularly, but even that has changed somehow. Sometimes it's still frantic, and rushed, and they don't manage to make it to a bed. However, sometimes it's sensual and deliberate, like a desperate dance of desire Ariadne had thought she'd forgotten a long time ago.

Sometimes, it's simply moisten lips and soft, calloused hands rather than wet, feverish skin rushing next to each other.

Sometimes Ariadne fears that they're making love.

One particularly rainy night, the evening after her nicotine withdrawal stops, Arthur carries her to her bed, running his lips over every inch of her body until she's begging for him. And when he thrusts into her gently, _lovingly_, she hears him confirm, over and over under his breath, "This doesn't mean anything."

She wipes a hand blindly over her cheek, knowing that what they have between them is not enough to prolong anything genuine or anything outside of inception and the team and Cobb.

"Can I ask you something?" she questions once she rolls off of Arthur, her voice sounds a little raspy because she's trying to catch her breath.

"Okay."

Ariadne summons up the courage she has left and turns her head to face him. "Do you blame me for what happened?"

A beat passes, and all she's thinking about at the moment is Arthur saying _yes_ and how much it will crush her when he does. Nonetheless, there's nothing else to lose, nothing he doesn't already know, nothing he doesn't already make her feel.

"I used to."

She presses. Of course she does. "And what about now?"

Arthur turns to face her, his hair plastered to his forehead due to the sweat excreted from their recent activities. Ariadne can't help but push it off from his face. Her heart thumps painfully when she does.

"I blame myself."

"You shouldn't," she says, propping her head up on her hands.

Ariadne levels her gaze on his face, seeming to be committing his features to memory. Is she trying to remember? Trying to make a memory, just in case? She's not certain, but the fact that she's drawing up blanks as she tries to remember them in Fischer's subconscious makes her nervous.

"Maybe," he shrugs, pushing himself up to rest against the headboard. "I used to blame you because I thought you purposely let him miss the kick and stay down there."

His eyes flicker down to hers, and she can see the insecurity darkening his brown orbs; a lack of confidence that she hasn't noticed on Arthur since his confession in the warehouse.

"And truth be told, I hate myself for thinking that. I was the one who didn't check up on Ficher's background thoroughly. I'm liable for Saito getting shot, and Cobb chasing after him –"

His voice cuts off as she climbs into his lap, tucking her legs against his thighs and twining her arms around his neck and shoulders. Blood rushing, she senses all parts of her brain going fuzzy and blending together, expect for the rational part.

That portion keeps telling her Arthur isn't responsible for Cobb's experiences in limbo, isn't accountable for his inception on Mal, isn't at fault for Cobb not being able to get out like he had before.

She voices her thoughts out loud.

"He did that to her?" Arthur asks, referring to Cobb's own guilty conscience.

"He loved her," she replies, and kisses him, chests pressing together.

Ariadne feels the reverb of her heart beating a rapid rhythm beneath Arthur's skin, while hers pounds back in echo.

—

Furrowing her eyebrows, Ariadne studies Cobb's face closely. Despite the actions feeling childish, she waves a hand in front of his face and pokes him in his stiff shoulder just to be certain.

When Arthur had given her a copy of the warehouse key, she remembers asking him how Cobb's body stays alive while he's down under for so long. Arthur had told her that it is almost self-generative. Sometimes he has to hook him up to an oxygen machine and even a food supply, but the only sign of bodily function is Cobb's mind processing and recessing in limbo.

That's why he doesn't need much care. His mind is degenerating, but creating and thriving at the same time. Consequently, if he ever wakes up, he will not remember a thing.

A sense of foreboding settles heavily in the air in the warehouse, and Ariadne checks to make sure that no one, especially Arthur, is around to see her.

"Hey, Cobb," she says, settling into the lawn chair adjacent to the dreaming man.

"You can't hear me, and even if you could, you won't understand where any of this is coming from," she pauses, mulling the words over in her head, "I wanted to tell you how I felt, about everything, because I've never actually come out and told anyone about it, except Arthur, and that didn't happen easily. "

She looks beyond Cobb, and stares at the concrete floor, counting the thin gray cracks that undoubtedly match the ones on her bedroom ceiling.

"So when I got back on the road after work, my cab got to the exit to Brooklyn, but I changed my mind and kept going because if this," Ariadne gestures between their bodies, "is ever going to be resolved, I have to tell you that I know you're alright. I think I've always known, even sitting on that river bank with Arthur while you were still in the van."

It feels like she's fallen short of the true nature of her emotional state, but it's all she can come up with at the moment. "I'm not explaining it right."

There's a loud clank of metal that bounces around in the emptiness of the warehouse behind her, but Ariadne doesn't pay it any attention.

She lets her head drop into her hand as her clouded mind struggles to find coherence, something more touching, something to tell Cobb that means _more_.

_Why is it still important to dream?_

_My dreams are still together._

"Arthur misses you. You're his best friend." Her words fall out in a rush, emotions plain as day on her face. "Not too long ago, he told me he was having nightmares, and I thought they were about you. But looking back on it now, I remember the way he looked at me and sounded different, and I think I know why."

She remembers the morning well, and the expression twisting Arthur's features into something she didn't recognize, something cold and hard, but had touched her heart nonetheless.

"And he had never looked at me that way before," Ariadne breathes, wrapping her coat tighter around herself despite the intense heat radiating from the space heaters. "That was when it really hit me, Cobb. I think I'm still reeling from the realization."

'_What is it?'_ Ariadne can almost see the annoyance etched in Cobb's sleeping face, as if he is amused to know the answer.

"Arthur's always so focused, sometimes even allusive in his own charming way, and I when I watched him standing outside my apartment, for the first time I just knew…" She waits, chest tight and adrenaline coursing to her head, "I knew that I loved him, and I don't know how to stop."

All the air in her body leaves in a long exhale that physically hurts and she can't decide whether this is a good thing or not, _to finally know_.

The thought leaves her exasperated and tired, and Ariadne is more than willing to take a taxi home so she can sleep off the feeling of dread that suddenly churns in her gut.

_This doesn't mean anything._

Because the thing is, Ariadne chooses to embrace and accept his biting words. Perhaps she will mourn and grieve, and even yearn for the possibilities that she is turning her back on. Because one day, just like Yusuf and Eames, and even Cobb, Arthur will be gone, looking to rediscover his life once his guilt dissipates and it will only agonize her more in the end when she realizes she won't be in it.

She smiles mutely to herself, defiance seething and replacing the sense of whatever distressed emotion she's feeling right now.

"Goodnight, Dom," says Ariadne.

She stops missing Cobb after that. She knows that means more than she can ever say.

Ariadne zips up her coat and prepares herself for the chilly November wind outside, searching for the warehouse keys in her pockets as she walks towards the exit.

And then, she stiffens, noticing Arthur lingering just inside the doors and she knows he has heard her.

She had sat there with Cobb and told him that she couldn't stop her feelings, and looking in Arthur's eyes now, she sees that he can't stop his.

"I told you what we had didn't mean anything," he says.

"Yes."

"I lied."

Her mouth is dry, and there's a small taste of embarrassment, regret and sorrow. She pushes open the warehouse door, and for a moment, looking over her shoulder and just watching Arthur and the way the soft evening light hits him, makes Ariadne wish she could go back to the night she had first invited him into her apartment and do everything differently.

—

Later that evening, Ariadne stands in front of the mirror over her bathroom sink. She strains her eyes to stare at her reflection against the harsh incandescent light, running her hand over the edgy sheet of glass, trying to see herself for what she is.

The face looking back at her has changed somewhat – there is a firmness about her jaw and a few more lines around the corners of her mouth that has never been there before.

But it is still the same face. It is still Ariadne.

Her thoughts shift to Arthur and all the conflicting, contradictory impressions she has ever had of him. By the time her clock flashes midnight, there isn't a single thought in her head that doesn't have him in it. Now that Ariadne thinks about it, there is not a lot in her life now that doesn't have Arthur in it.

It's been that way since inception, hasn't it? In some big ways, in the small ones, always. From the minute she had waken up to Arthur from her first dream sharing experience with Cobb in Paris, he has grown to become the epicenter of her life. Aside from Cobb's raging subconscious dominated by Mal, Arthur has been the core of the team, the one she had tried to push Cobb into consoling with.

She sees now that he's been that to her since the moment she had came back, unable to stay away from the perpetuity of dream building, since the moment Arthur had first taught her about paradoxes, enclosed loops and boundaries, and where to draw the line.

Ariadne just didn't see it until now.

She looks at her reflection again and laughs. She laughs until her laughter turns into uncontrollable sobs and she has to grip the crumbling bathroom counter to hold herself upright. And when Ariadne goes to bed, she feels lighter somehow, airless, as if a resilient poison inside her has finally been purged.

—

Ariadne hasn't been so thankful for a Friday since she was in high school. She races through her lecture and cuts work early so she doesn't have to sit through the afternoon rush hour.

She knows she is distracted, knows her classmates and colleagues can see it too, but she doesn't have it in her to care. Ariadne shrugs of their offers of coffee, begging off with excuses of having somebody waiting for her which, given her clean track record, probably sounds like a lie.

By the time she arrives at the warehouse, the sun has already begun to set and the wind has picked up, blowing over the snow that has mounted on the flat roof overhead.

The only thing that pushes her forward, urges her on in spite of the dropping temperature, is the light radiating from the warehouse windows above.

Soft shifting and scuffling noises reach her ears from around the corner as Ariadne nudges open the metal doors, gripping the handle tightly as the warm air from inside whips into her face, nearly suffocating her.

"Ariadne?"

Arthur, on the other side, making all the noises, rises from his seat on the lawn chair next to Cobb and shoves his hands into his slack pocket.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, his voice drifting pleasantly over the noise of the space heaters.

With a shrug, Ariadne sets the large bag on her shoulder down beside her wet boots, wiping off the excess snow on her shoulder. "I woke up this morning and I missed you."

She suddenly feels hot, and it has nothing to do with the heat. She realizes that she's probably blushing, a crimson red sweeping up her neck and all over her face. It's no surprise, really, because she has never been fond of talking about emotional stuff and that's something that's unlikely to change.

Under any other circumstance, this might be a touch amusing for Arthur. But he doesn't look amused, or ready to give a quirky reply. He looks like he's remembering her stricken face before she had walked away from him in the warehouse the other day, and Ariadne feels shame.

"And I thought about it for a long time. And I realized," she stares up at him, earnest and hopeful and she feels like a teenager again in that moment, "that what I did to you, well, it wasn't exactly fair, was it?"

Arthur walks over to her, shaking his head and looking slightly confused, as if he doesn't understand her apology, as if he doesn't recognize her. "What do you mean?"

"You overhead me say some things," Ariadne swallows, "And I left before I had a chance to explain them. "

"You could have said all this over the phone," he tells her simply, something like a Cheshire grin starts to creep onto his face.

Maybe Arthur is finally realizing how hard this is for her.

"I could have," she pauses, taking her bottom lip in between her teeth, "But that's not all I wanted to tell you."

"Ariadne – "

"I should have told you those things myself," she interrupts, clamping down on her tongue, hard.

Arthur looks at her, really looks at her, like he's seeing the girl who has been with him while his life had crumbled like a collapsing dream. He moves to her, tilting her face up to his with his warm hands, fingers stroking the skin of her cheek.

"You love me?"

Ariadne thinks of the pink in her cheeks then; sees her flushing now reflecting on Arthur and feels the hot tingling of chance pulsating through her. She nods, blinking quickly as the air fills with expectation. The need to ask about now, how he feels, if it's the same, is there but she can't quite bring herself to ask.

"Ariadne, Jesus, I missed you too," he says, like he can indefinitely reading her mind. His voice is husky enough to make her skin tickle as Arthur envelops her in his arms. "I love you."

It's the first time Arthur says he loves her, and she nods, and there are tears in her eyes when she says she loves him too.

It should scare her, the strength of the emotions flooding her body that make her hands sweep the familiar bends and angles of Arthur's frame, her heart frantic, skin pricking with sheer _need_.

Ariadne kisses him like she's pouring everything she has into him, arms binding around him, and God, there's no going back from here. Arthur responds quickly, working his lips over hers until she makes a small nose in the back of her throat before they both jolt back to reality.

"So, where do we go from here?"

There is no doubt what she's really asking. Arthur immediately understands and yes, he has probably though about it, every day for the last year. She has already rolled the possibilities around in her head of what life would be like if Arthur comes with her, if they leave Cobb, if they live in their own realities.

However, that couldn't happen, and it's hard to imagine anything like that ever coming to be after all the guilt and hope they have carried around with them for the past eight or so months, maybe even longer. Honestly, it's only hard just because in their attempts to forget, all their endeavors end before they even really begin.

Arthur stares at her in open wonderment and concentration, and she feels the part of her that is white and hot and burning turn into a pleasant heat somewhere inside her.

"We wait, but we move on," he says, ushering her out of the warehouse before securely locking the heavy metal doors behind him.

Later, they will unquestionably return to the solitude and faith they manifest in their wait for Cobb. But for now, they are content to stand together in the darkness of the winter night, as the snow falls and blow across the ground – spotless, white, and new

Just like a blank slate.

—

Ariadne presses herself into Arthur as he walks her to his car. She looks over her shoulder, at the towering warehouse, and feels her breathing return to normal. Maybe wanting Cobb to wake up had been a selfish attempt to restore the safety she had once felt with him there. But now she feels safe with Arthur too. Safety and hope and wholeness.

Cobb never comes back.

Arthur never leaves.

—

_End. _


End file.
